I can’t sleep. Even with the tent to myself, I can’t get to sleep. Moody gave everyone their leave but I get to keep working off my ‘carelessness’, fucking wanker! I keep thinking about Ron and the fact that I miss his voice. I miss more than his voice, to be honest, but — to bloody hell with this!I pull the mirror from my pocket and am about to call when I think better of it. He’s probably busy.Busy doing what at this hour? He could be on rounds.Or he could be hurt! He’s not hurt.“How do you know?” Oh hell! I’m really losing it if I’m having an argument with myself over this! I decide to call him and actually end up waking him.He’s sleeping? While I’m sitting here worried sick over him?“Wake up, Ron!”
"I do not snore," I answer reaching for the fags on the bedstand. Lighting one, I throw my head back and close my eyes. "I miss you. I can't wait to see you. A week's worth of gruntwork for Moody's worth it all if I get to see you.""You're getting sappy on me, Harry.""Bugger off, I just need to be with you. You... you keep me sane." I blow the smoke up the ceiling and run my fingers through my hair. I must have dozed off a bit because I hear Ron nearly shouting at me to put out the cigarette before catching the camp on fire."S'not like there's any kindling," I answer half-awake. "I sliced all the trees, mate. Yup... sliced them right through... boom go tree... and I heard it." Wasn't I supposed to do something?